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Good day reader, I hope you are doing well. I’ll try my best to write an entertaining drama/horror story.
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Chapter 1: School dismissal
Tick
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tock
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tick and tock
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“Poor chicken,” Bopil watches from the third floor—a chicken trying to use its feathers to fly. Fleeing away with frantic flapping but only has its stick legs to run. A red car honks by, heavy tires screeching through the school’s narrow road. Leaving behind puffs of feather, dragging blood and a twitching mangled form.
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News has been spreading about a cult. Blaring it all over the campus until students’ ears ring with crumpled faces. Bopil smacks his own tight, shut close in protest. What cult, what invite, what accept. “Leave me alone” he whispers and the empty corridor is silent. The blaring echo coming to pass. Only white noise and the ticking clock pointing exactly at five. It is time to go.
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Five o'clock meant navigating the gauntlet of the school corridor. His ballpen legs writing a trail of black line on the floor. He walks pass the SSG room—a suggestions box beside its door. Left and right are the dreaded lockers that eats stuff. He walks in the middle, wary of their mimic mouths. Just like any other dismissal, students pack up their bags and call their goodbyes without noticing anything. One pink haired girl in beret snickers with her lollipop. Scarlet lips laced with sweet luster that Bopil gulps. His cheeks red, dry lips and eyes actively looking at every corner. Neck craning down to avoid suspicion, only to get called weird. Yet his chest sprints wildy, contrast to his inching steps. Is today his lucky day?
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Whispers rouse the sleeping corridor. Students who had leisurely walked around the middle pace quickly beside the lockers. “It’s George, it’s George” they mutter, “the riding devil brothers.”
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“Yeah I can go at your place…it’s him again…”
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“Gahk, looks like he’s still after your woman”
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“Get lost weirdo!”
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Bopil ignored their nearing voices, his eyes fixed on the pink haired chick. She batted him away with a dismissive flick of her hand, sending a jolt of humiliation through him. Bopil freezes, his tremoring gaze nervously glances at the approaching figures— tattoed delinquents deserving of ther nicknames as tractor and motorcycle. Bopil knowingly bows, keeping his stitched mouth shut and quickly pacing to pass by them.
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But George's hand landed on Bopil's shoulder, its weight heavy and unwelcome. "Still bony as ever, aren't you, Bopliton?" he taunt, squeezing playfully but firmly. His greeting smile knowing not to let go of his prey.
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Bopil wince, a flicker of his past anger threatening to surface. “that hurts” he murmurs,
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“It does?” Squeezing it again and again but never too hard. The past of the bite mark on his neck throb with a dull ache. Flaring his eyes, “Does this hurt? Does this hurt? I can’t help but play with twigs like you.”
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“Stop, I’ll get angry again” rolling his eyes, the glint of steel peeking through his bangs.
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George’s gripping hand flinch and alert. His neck burns like the tension in the air. The knowing smile turn into an anticipating grip—lips bitten. "Then get angry." George mock, tilting his head, "Get angry so that little rats like you" he shoves him to the lockers, stepping one of his foot “should know their place.”
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“G-George!” The scrawny brother frantically tries to pull the big boulder back but gets hind kicked to the floor.
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“Stay out of this”
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“George, George” alarmingly calling him again and again, “let’s just go. Let’s not bother him bro.” eyes wide with sweat as if he is the victim.
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George scoffs with his chest rattling at the same fear. He takes a nervous gulp and instead of retreat he grips harder on the prey’s shoulder. Most would be screaming by now but, George sarcastically chuckles. Eyebrows raised as if amused. “Ya…” keeping his voice low and calm, his face leaning close at the hollowing eye sockets, “Skelly Bopilton” The tension crackled in the air, punctuated by the rhythmic ticking of the clock. A crowd had gathered, their phones held aloft like drooling mouths.
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“Ugly losers like you, should really know their place. My fists, are as strong as a truck. So, next time, don’t do anything funny. You make me want to puke, Give me lunch money," he demands, voice lace with a threat.
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Bopil replies with the suffocating silence of the corridor. The locker handle press deeper on his back.
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"For tomorrow then. Twice what you usually give"
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Bopil groans, eyes and neck slump down. His shoulder and spine painfully strikes back. It hurts from being held for nearly thirty minutes. He tries to push George away but he does not budge. He does not budge, yet, he flinched. Odd, something is different with the bully today. The ticking wall clock showing his shivering green eyes. Bopil knowingly stares at him, eye to eye. Everybody else fades in the background.
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Holding his breath, eyes fearing wide as Bopil slightly opens his mouth and presses his body against his. Bopil’s free foot stomped on his shadow. George nudges back, sending him thudding against the lockers. His foot forces down and Bopil shrieks in gritted teeth. Bopil’s sling bag gets yanked off and the paper and pen inside pours on the floor. Their messy squabble flashes the cameras and the murmuring crowd protests against George even though he gets pushed down and straddled. Bopil raises a shaky fist, clenched ready to punch the living daylight out of his enemy, but then a polished shoe blocks him. A hand pulling up Bopil—
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Catching him is a lean individual in cool glasses, a necktie exuding exquisiteness with black hair stripped of any poverty. Piercing blue eyes dapperly glaring at the devil brothers. A strong grip on Bopil’s arm, keeping him by his side. “He said no” he declare, his voice firm and unwavering.
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George bristle, a silent challenge hanging in the air. “And a nobody like you shouldn’t get in anyone’s business” chuckling as he stands up, their sharp noses baring at each other, “You chinchin kind sure ugly up close. Do you use cloth clippers?
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The man steps back, hairs standing on ends knowing full well about who George is. “I’m his friend” he claims, keeping a stoic stand,
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His friend, though Bopil do not know him, he takes his chances and cling on the man’s polo sleeve. Feeling thick forearms that he immediately trusts himself onto. “Let’s go, let’s go” frantically murmuring. Tiny sounds that the man immediately embrace as they walk away, into the corridor where Bopil had drew the dark line. There was no need to escalate the scene, but a question hints at the glint of his glasses. Why didn’t the riding brothers turn physical? His own provocation spooked the heck out of his chest.
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It is his lucky day. He managed to escape the riding devil brothers and got into the SSG room. Its sweet scented roses in a vase and the smell of old paper tickles his gut feeling towards home. “Thank you…uhm…”
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“SSG Vice president, Fjord Valentine” he gently sets Bopil on the couch. Before taking his on the main seat behind a spanning mahogany desk. “I was on my way back to the office when I saw you and those brothers. What happened?”
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SSG—The Student Service Government, “SSG…Ah—I’m sorry.” He quickly apologizes, “I should get going already! Sorry for the inconvenience!”
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Fjord’s eyebrows raises, he had just saved him but now he wants to leave. Plus, he did not answer his question. The ticking clock feeds their shadow. Windows growing dark as he stares fondly at Bopil. There is no need to press it. Bopil said those words yet the little man is standing like a rabbit waiting for his carrot. Fjord leisurely rests back, as if sure on something. “Okay, you can go.” He says, flipping through his calendar.
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Bopil walks up to the door but the knob feels cold. Something behind the door, the brothers might be there, waiting with their fists. His cheeks itch, remembering the punch he got yesterday. His fingers hesitate to turn, instead, he himself turns around, watching the vice president with the backlit sunset bloom. Bopil does not say anything, Fjord does not question anything, both return to silently sitting.
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An oddity in the student body. Fjord thinks as he takes a picture in the manner of texting. He asks his name and Bopil immediately answers with a phlegm clogged throat. The vice president does not press his questions, instead, he orders him to check the cabinet for a file. Once again, Bopil’s legs are muppets to his tongue. He goes over to the cabinet, searching each compartment. He finds a neck pillow and a blanket which he sneakily takes along with the ordered file. Rain heavily pelting outside.
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Naturally placing the blanket on the couch, and taking a nap as if he is in his own bedroom
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“A real oddball” Fjord thinks out loud, the clock has already ticked past six. School hours are almost over and snow begins to fall. He walks up to the window, taking note of a red car that had parked on a PWD slot. The dim clouds in the distance threatens the moonlight. It is almost time, he has to go back home as well Fjord turns around—
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—Eyes snap open, Bopil wakes up. Winds wheering and knocking on the window. The pillow seems surprisingly hard and warm and the blanket is gone. The cabinet where he left open is closed and, He turns his head and sees a book cover, ‘winter fairy of the cabin’. Veiny hands holds the book and closes it.
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“A real oddball” Fjord thinks out loud, staring openly at Bopil. “Mmm, you’re awake”
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Bewildered brows and a sniffing stuffy nose, Bopil sleepily turns once more, over to the side of a musky source. Fjord snaps on Bopil’s face, pulling him to sit up. Bopil scratches his eyes, the sun had already gone downl “what time is it, Mr. Valentine?”
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“…” Fjord remains silent, his glasses studying as if he stumbled on a stranger.
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“Uhm, sorry…”
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“No, why are you apologizing?” He looks serious, turning his body to fully face him,
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“R-right, I should be thanking you. You saved me and even took me in and let me rest.”
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“Correct, I did do that much but, Valentine…” Fjord holds his tongue, the snow pelting heavily outside, “is that a guess?”
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“Uhm…are you playing with me, Mr, Valentine? What do you mean?”
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“I’m not trying to be funny here.”
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“T-then, what do you want me to say?” Bopil’s voice trying to hide again,
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“You already know”
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“What? I’m not following you sir…” Bopil yawns. “Sorry sir but I’ll be sleeping again” before drowsily slumping his head.
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Fjord canot believe what he is seeing. Bopil immediately fell asleep in front of him. He runs up to the fireplace. Lit a fie and throw the winter fairy of the cabin into the fire. Suddenly, something starts knocking on the door,
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…The door is not opening… If it is the other SSG members then they would have not bothered knocking.
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KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. The door violently rattles. 86Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRJkusVhpmw
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Tick
tock
tick and tock
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“Come in” sighing,
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Hands in his pocket, Fjord imagines it to be the riding devil brothers, looking for more trouble. The door creaking open. A dim lit hallway…the janitors should have already switched on the lights. Is it on? A wrinkled lady steps into the shaded room. The shadows down casted over her smile and fox like eyes. Alive to her expression and prim to her 90s dress fashion, Her disheveled hair shrieking its pose,
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"Hello, Mr. SSG President," she greets, her voice raspy.
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Fjord corrects her politely, "Vice President, ma'am."
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"Ah, apologies," her cold smile unwavering. "I was just assuming Mr. Vice SSG president. My apologies. Can I take my son back home now? He isn't answering my calls, so I had to come personally."
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Fjord notice the brown patches stained into the hem of her coat, he pays no mind. Instead his gaze darts straight at hers. "You can take him. In fact, I think your son is done for today."
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"Done for today? And what do you mean by that?" she inquire, her voice deceptively soft.
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Fjord maintain his composure, leaning against the desk. Sighing, "I mean... he did his best today. And he slept here." Still wondering if Bopil, is asleep.
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The woman's smile widen at the sight of her kneeling son, revealing a hint of something unsettling beneath the surface. "I see, I see, well. Thank you for taking care of my son, I just hope he did not mean you any trouble," letting out a low chuckle, her voice dripping with a strange sweetness. She steps up to the couch, dark brown heels leaving dots of purple. Then leans and bite on Bopil’s ear. "Let's go home. I prepared chicken for dinner today~ It’s your favorite right? Sometimes you even think that you are a chicken yourself"
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Bopil's eyes flutter open, his body twitching as if trying to wake up. He slowly turn around, his gaze landing on his mother. Hesitantly, he lean in and kiss her directly on the lips. The woman, in a swift and shocking movement, bit down on his lower lip, drawing blood. No words were exchanged, no explanations offered. Bopil, like a trained dog, followed his mother out of the room, her hand clamped tightly around his.
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Fjord watch them leave, a multitude of questions swirling in his mind. The moonlight, obscure by the thick snowing clouds, cast an eerie glow over the deserted campus. He is left alone, the silence broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the clock and the faint sound of thunderclap.
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